


Waterlogged

by ZergRoaches



Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Blood, Desert AU, M/M, Violence, king mikleo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-08-17 00:45:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8124055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZergRoaches/pseuds/ZergRoaches
Summary: Sorey, a mere peasant in a kingdom where water is more precious than life itself manages to steal a large shipment to help those in need, and gets caught in the act. Will he manage to get away from those chasing him, or will he be caught and thrown in prison to rot forever?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Let me make this clear that I have NOT played Tales of Zestiria, or watched any playthroughs of it. I know little about the game ( and the Tales series itself, for that matter ), but I have watched most of the anime that's out. I'm basing how I'm writing everyone from the anime, and what I've seen the fandom do, too. This AU is something I thought up myself - a kingdom in the desert, with Mikleo as king and Sorey just as a helpful man in poverty.
> 
> I don't know how long the story will be - I'm hoping long! - but this chapter isn't too long, I don't think, but I think I stopped it at a good part. This is just a warning now ( which I will repeat each chapter, I think ) that it will get rather spicy, and quite... dubious. Tags will be updated as I upload and finish more parts to it. Tagging stuff always spoils the story I think, but tags are a good thing at the same time.

Water. Everything was about water. Life flourishes with it. People can trade with it, sell it, wash with it. Plants, animals, people; everything needs it to survive. Rumors of vast bodies of water – albeit salted water – spread through the deserts of the kingdom. Though useless, the few who have said they've bared witness to it told only of beauty. An oasis was rare, horrendously so, and ones who found them were allowed to claim them for their own – if they lived the trip back to the city. Hell, the city itself was built on a massive oasis, one that has never ran dry even after centuries.

It was more valued than food, for most knew and had the means of growing their own indoors.

And yet there was never enough of it.

The king was ruthless with his power, and his subjects knew this all too well. Water rations were to be dished out to everyone in the kingdom, and all but the poor had the most water. It was always said that the oasis was going to be drying up soon, or that secretly it had already been dry and that the so-called 'water' given to the populace was nothing but mind-controlling potions.

Those people were always arrested, and never heard from again. The power and fear of losing one's water was that great on the lower, less fortunate folks.

If you complained, you lost your water. If you asked for more, you lost your water. If you said anything bad about the king, you lost your water. If you tried to escape, you lost your water. If you stole, you lost your water. Some things were more commonsense than others, that someone should be a good person, try to do their best in life, but life was a living _hell_ for those who were poor.

Stealing water was one of the worst crimes someone could ever commit – it didn't even depend on how much was exactly stolen. The person was kept alive, barely on the brink of death, a punishment many would call worse than execution. Starvation, dehydration, public beatings. A handful of people would even go ahead and steal the water, only because they know they would be _kept alive_ compared to the corrupt guards sometimes getting away with not giving someone their water supplies for the week. Imprisonment was told to be forever, and worse than banishment into the desert.

The penalty was even more painful that just one person being imprisoned. Their family, and close friends too, all lost the exact amount of water that was stolen.

One boy in particular was about to get worse than simple jail time.

 

 _Stupid, stupid, stupid!_ Sorey insulted himself several times over, trying to catch his breath. He was hiding. Hiding from the swarms of soldiers doing everything they could to find him, to find where the years worth of water he stole was at. The guards didn't have the layout of his little cluster of homes memorized too well compared to the upper levels, never really bothering to patrol like they were supposed to.

They slacked too often, and it gave Sorey quite an advantage.

Taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly, Sorey rested his head against the brick wall, sliding down against it onto the pavement. His heart was still racing, and he had to find somewhere to hide... for the rest of his life.

“Stupid...” he repeated the word again, closing his eyes. His space was well-hidden, but simple at the same time; between two buildings – a tight fit – and some crates. The only space that wasn't covered was directly above, and he figured the guards weren't smart enough to climb up onto people's houses and look down.

Sorey was hoping that the water actually got to where he sent it off to. It was a chain robbery, his idea alone, and he hoped if they got caught that he could take all the blame, take any punishment that the soldiers would dish out to him.

His face was the only one that was uncovered in a scuffle with the guards. The section of the city he lived in was well-known to not always get their water supplies, and Sorey needed to help people; he couldn't just sit on his ass and do nothing for them. He was only able to get a few month's worth for several families, nothing too major, but the crime itself being severe since water was stolen.

He had to think of something. _Anything_. He needed a plan to be able to hide forever now, and running from house to house begging strangers to help him wouldn't do at all. Sorey didn't like a life of stealing, no actual home of his own, nor could he ever go back and face the families again that he stole the water for.

It wasn't a very well thought-out plan to begin with, waiting for the guards to turn their backs and stealing a horse and carriage, using it to navigate the city to certain designated areas. Sorey then dumped the water off, the crates almost breaking in the process – he even had to waste several of them to knock over chasing guards, waiting for them to run past where he was hiding and knocking them over onto his would-be attackers.

After that, and grouping up with three others that helped him, was when he was attacked. He allowed his friends to get away, sacrificing himself in the process.

And he was practically stuck in this hole in the wall.

Sorey wiped his hands off on his pants, then wiped his face of collected sweat. The young man took another deep breath and stared up at the sky that he could see.

He was met with a swift kick to the face, and Sorey felt a trickle of blood trail from his nose, grunting from the force of the kick and his head smacking against the brick wall.

Head stinging, face hurting, Sorey had to get away: the guards _did_ check up on top of the buildings, finding his hiding spot. He had to get out, and fast: Sorey did his best to block several more kicks, hoping that the rope that the soldier was hanging on wouldn't break. He turned as best he could and managed to squeeze back through the two buildings, stumbling into the dirt road before collecting himself back up and making a run for it.

 _Where do I go now?!_ Sorey panicked. Running was the only thing he could do from the guards at this point, almost tripping over a person here or there and just about crashing into a stall of rotten-looking produce. People were screaming at him – he didn't know if it was more guards or not. It didn't matter.

Escaping mattered.

Rounding the corner, Sorey made a wrong turn, crashing right into one of the guards that was chasing him. The pair toppled to the ground, kicking up dust everywhere; it didn't help that Sorey's face smacked into the metal chestplate, his already sore and possibly broken nose smearing it with blood.

“There you are!” he heard another one say. Sorey felt his leg being grabbed, prompting him to spin around painfully and kick the arm off. The guard next to him in the dirt flipped over and grabbed Sorey's arms, trying to pin him.

The young man was stronger than the guards, thankfully: the pin didn't last long. Sorey pushed himself forward, headbutting the guard – painfully – and forcing him to let go, thanking whatever was watching over him that this particular guard wasn't wearing any helmet like the others.

Head spinning, Sorey didn't see the blunt end of a spear being thrust at him until it was too late. It jabbed him in the stomach, knocking the air from his lungs. The dust that was continuously being thrown into the air from the skirmish didn't help him at all, the painful inhales causing his lungs to burn from the dirt that got inside.

Several more jabs, and one to the face knocked him back against the ground.

Two more guards were on him in that instant, one holding his shoulders and the other his legs – the one he headbutted staggering back up slowly. The fourth guard flipped his spear around and pointed the metal tip at Sorey. “I dare you to move, scum,” he threatened. “Cuff him.”

The guard that wasn't occupied unhooked the chain-linked bracers from his belt and locked them around Sorey's wrists, a second pair following around his ankles.

It was over now, and to add insult to injury the guard punched his face several times just for good measure.

Sorey knew what would come next: he would be dragged off to the castle, and have to meet with the king himself for stealing water. He would have to _walk there_ in his rugged condition, another punishment for his crime rather than being hauled away in a wagon. He could hardly breathe, could hardly see anything – the fresh welts and bruises on his face swelling up quickly, and the pain in his chest didn't help anything either.

The cuffs would make it difficult to walk, too.

“On your feet, idiot,” one of the guards told him, jabbing him in the stomach again. Sorey turned on his side and curled up, coughing and wheezing into the dirt. Several swift kicks to his side told him to _move now._

The young man got to his feet with difficulty, coughing and hunched over, holding his stomach. Two guards were in front of him and began leading the way, the other two taking up the rear.

It would not be a fun journey.

 

Sorey didn't arrive at the castle until nightfall. His face wasn't as swollen anymore and his mouth and throat were dry. He was starving, clothes completely dirtied and torn here and there, and he had lost one of his boots along the way.

He was a mess. Barely able to stand anymore, but Sorey knew that if he fell over again he'd just get another beating, and it would be even harder to stand back up.

Taking a risk, Sorey spoke up: “How much further...?” he wheezed out.

“Quiet,” he was told. The soldiers seemed to of mellowed out further, no longer using as harsh words: Sorey guessed they were just as tired as he was, having to drag him through the streets. Several other guards had come up to exchange information. Sorey assumed that everyone else looking for him would be told so the hunt would stop, probably even the king would know by now since it's so late.

Once through the massive doors leading inside the main building, Sorey looked about. He was too tired to be in awe of any of the fancy decorations: carved stone pillars every few feet with a guard standing between each one, a blue and gold trimmed carpet to match the banners hanging down from the wooden support beams in the ceiling.

Torches lit the long hallway. Further in, Sorey saw another set of doors, more guards standing in front of this one: the party of five stopped in front of the cluster.

“His Majesty wants to speak to the prisoner,” one of them with a gold-trimmed collar said, a captain of some sort.

“Can we go now, then? We've already done more than enough,” one of his captors asked the officer.

“Fine. Go get yourselves cleaned up, we'll take it from here.”

There was a collective sigh from the guards around Sorey. The one who originally cuffed him handed the captain the keys before all four of them padded off. Sorey didn't bother looking to see where they went, and he kept quiet, staring the leader of the half dozen remaining down.

He was taller than the guard.

No one said a word. The soldiers took positions around him – keeping close but enough room to walk – in a circular formation, the leader in front.

The doors opened, then.

As he walked inside, Sorey didn't take in much of the wide chamber. A table on either side of the carpeting, more columns, more guards, some stain glass windows. It was impressive, for sure, but what shocked Sorey most was the person sitting on the throne:

It was a young man around his age.

He had fair-colored skin, not an almost tanned tone like Sorey's did. _He probably doesn't get out much at all_... he guessed, looking over the rest of his features: a soft face, thin body, white hair with bluish-silver tips. His clothing looked of royalty, a brilliant light-blue robe with gold trmming down from the shoulders and ending in a point, another design following his abdomen down and ending at his waist. The ends of the sleeves had white encircling them in another pattern, a similar one on his chest. His pants were white, the ends of the pantlegs appearing to have a spiked design around them, the same color as his top, and his shoes a very plain-looking brown.

The king even had a crown on; Sorey could barely make out a glint of gold underneath the hair across his forehead.

It was magnificent compared to Sorey's dirty, faded and torn blue top and black pants, including his one remaining boot.

Another thing that shocked him was that the king had his eyes closed, and appeared to be _sleeping_.

A guard on one side of the throne cleared his throat awkwardly, looking nervous; he wasn't wearing a helmet. An awkward silence followed, the only thing making a sound was Sorey's labored wheezing and panting, some of the guards around him coughing into their helmets.

 _What is this..?_ the young man thought, looking over the king time and time again. He was too plain looking, too young looking to be royalty, much less a king, but Sorey had to show his respect, even to the man who was going to lock him away into a living hell forever.

Maybe if he played his cards right he would be allowed to go free, or even have his family and friends spared.

Seconds of waiting turned to minutes. It felt like an agonizing eternity waiting for the king to wake up. Sorey couldn't help but admire the soft features, but at the same time feel a little annoyed, knowing that this is how the best of the best lived, not having to worry about if they would get a meal for the day or something to drink, or a warm bed at night.

Just when he was about to fall over, the king shifted upright, eyes opening.

“Sir - ” the guard who coughed earlier spoke up; the king held up a hand to silence him.

His soft features turned serious, then, as he got up, taking long strides down several stairs towards the guards and Sorey. His gaze flickered to Sorey's own momentarily before locking onto the captain's eyes: the captain turned around and punched Sorey in the stomach, causing him to fall over.

The guards were all on him at once.

Metal boots dug into his sides, kicking at him. Sorey cried out in pain, he couldn't hold it back this time, and the room was filled with the sounds of his agony, echoing off the cement walls. He felt the ends of several weapons jab against his back, his legs, one going dangerously near his crotch – Sorey wouldn't be able to survive another hit to his groin, but it thankfully missed.

One of the guards hauled him to his knees and punched him left and right, throwing him to the ground afterwards.

Tears streamed from his eyes, blood from his lip and several wounds that the guards had broken open and made anew.

“Get up,” he was ordered, another kick to the stomach following.

It took him several painful minutes, but Sorey managed to slowly get to his knees, sniffling: he got up just in time to see the king smash the side of a spear against the captain's helmet, splintering the wood and causing him to go crashing to the ground.

Several gasps filled the air, along with more silence: none of the other soldiers dared to move.

“Idiot. I didn't tell him to do that,” the king said, dropping the spear and moving over to Sorey, holding a hand out to him. “Come with me. We'll get you cleaned up.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
